


Accidentally On Purpose

by springsnow



Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Blow Jobs, Desperation, Fluff and Smut, Frottage, Kink Discovery, M/M, Omorashi, Puppy Play, Teasing, Verbal Humiliation, Wetting, of a sort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-21
Updated: 2019-05-21
Packaged: 2020-03-09 04:03:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18909172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/springsnow/pseuds/springsnow
Summary: To be fair, the first time it happens is a legitimate accident.





	Accidentally On Purpose

**Author's Note:**

> Don't know where this came from. Smut, obviously. I have a weakness for Mark/Pete. Warning: this story involves piss, and quite a lot of it. If that's not your thing, then, obviously, don't bother reading on. If, however, that is your jam, then read ahead and enjoy.

To be fair, the first time it happens is a legitimate accident. Mark goes to bed drunk and wakes up the next morning with a pounding headache, a foul taste in his mouth, and soaking wet bedsheets. He’s mortified, naturally; after all, what sort of grown man wets the bed? Despite his hangover, he hurriedly changes the sheets and washes the wet ones, and then attempts to push the burning shame of what had happened deep down into the darkest corners of his memory.

And yet…

And yet he can’t stop thinking about it. He has no idea why, but the memory just keeps coming back to him. It’s embarrassing, but it’s weirdly enthralling at the same time. Finally, he just gets out his laptop and goes to Google and tries to think of how to word what he wants to say. After a while, cringing, he slowly types in _i peed myself and it felt good_ and hits the enter key.

_About 17,000,000 results._

OK, so at least he isn’t alone in this. He lets out the breath he’s been holding in and begins scrolling down the page. There’s something from a women’s advice forum, an academic article on priapism, and, then, something that looks relevant. He takes another deep breath and clicks on it.

_Why does it feel good when I pee my pants?_

_I’m twenty-five and recently I accidentally peed myself. I was embarrassed but it felt really good and I don’t know why. Is that normal? Is it just a kink?_

Mark scrolls down to the answer section. There’s some predictable responses—people calling the guy a freak, laughing at him, asking what the hell is wrong with him. But, in the midst of the mockery, a sympathetic response. Mark clicks on the little _read more_ and scans it.

_Well, while getting off on peeing your pants certainly isn’t what most people would call ‘normal’—but then again, who gets to say what is and isn’t normal? It’s kind of a nebulous idea. It’s more about whether or not it’s harmful, and as long as you’re doing it in your own clothes, in private, then no, it’s not harming anyone. If you’re going to do it around someone else, just make sure they’re cool with it, because it is a bit of a taboo. But as long as you’re doing it in private, and you enjoy it, then go for it!_

Mark swallows thickly. Obviously, he knew on a logical level that there’s nothing _morally_ wrong with being into…whatever this is, but it’s nice to have validation. Even if it is from a five-year-old forum post by a stranger on the internet. But is it a kink, or does it just feel nice? Is there a difference?

Only one way to find out.

==

He eventually gets to test his hypothesis the next week. He sets up on the floor of the living room, mostly because it’s hardwood, and he’s definitely not risking piss stains on the couch. He lays down a couple of towels and grabs a two-litre of Coke from the fridge—one of the blogs he looked at recommended alcohol, but he wants to keep a clear head for this. He’s wearing an old pair of shorts he doesn’t really go out in much anymore. He switches the TV on and settles on something he’s seen before, something familiar, so his mind will be a little more at ease. He opens the bottle of Coke and begins drinking.

And he waits.

It’s only been about twenty minutes when he feels the familiar sensation starting to build in his groin. With all the caffeine, Mark knows it won’t take long for it to start really having an effect.

Another twenty minutes. It’s getting uncomfortable now; Mark can feel the pressure building in his bladder. He shifts a little on the towels. No luck—no matter what position he’s in, he can still feel it. But fuck, does it feel good.

Ten minutes. His bladder is starting to strain, and he can actually feel it bulging if he cups his hand over it. He’s drunk a good portion of the bottle now, and he’s wondering whether or not to have a little more when he feels the first spurt dampen his shorts. He gasps in surprise, but he can’t stop it now; the floodgates have been opened. He whines as he begins to wet himself. His cheeks are burning with shame, but oh god, it feels so good. There’s a spreading dark spot on his shorts, and the old, faded material is sticking to his thighs and crotch with it. The last few bits trickle out, and Mark gasps softly. The shorts and towels are soaked; there’s probably some on the floor, too.

Fuck, he’s hard.

He hurriedly reaches into his shorts and jerks himself. He tips over the edge just a minute or so later, moaning loudly. He sits where he is for a minute, basking in the warm afterglow of his orgasm, before the now-cold wet patch on his short brings him back to reality. Wincing slightly, he stands up, gathering the towels up, and makes for the bathroom and the sink.

==

Mark’s gonna die.

No, he’s gonna throw up first. _Then_ he’s gonna die.

How could he be so fucking stupid? How could he do something as profoundly and ridiculously _dumb_ as leaving his laptop open when he was looking at…at _that_ , and not just leaving it open, leaving it open while his boyfriend _is in the goddamn apartment_?

There’s a knock at the door. Oh, god, not now, please— “Babe?” Pete’s voice. “You OK?”

Mark doesn’t respond. He buries his face in the pillow and pretends he doesn’t exist. He doesn’t want to see Pete right now. The shame courses through his body, burning him up, and he knows that whatever Pete’s going to say is only going to make it worse. No matter how gentle he is about it, it’s going to hurt, because Pete knows now. He knows and Mark hates that he knows.

“Listen, I—I know you must feel kinda, um, embarrassed, but…” Mark hears Pete take a breath. “If you want to talk about this, it’s OK. We can talk.”

 _Not in a million years_ , Mark thinks miserably.

“Because, y’know, I’d…well, you know I’m pretty open-minded about stuff. It’s OK. If that’s what you like and you want to try it or something, I guess I’d be OK.”

A rush of adrenaline floods Mark’s body. Is Pete just saying that? No, Pete Dunne never _just says_ anything. He picks at a loose thread on the pillowcase and bites his lip, thinking very, very hard.

Pete breathes a sigh of relief when Mark opens the bedroom door. He does his best to smile, but it’s kind of hard. He worries about Mark, no matter how many times he tells him not to. “Hey,” he says softly.

“Sorry about that.” Mark swallows and licks his lips. “Did you mean what you…what you said?”

“About what?”

Mark pulls a face and twists the bottom of his t-shirt. “The thing about trying it out,” he says, very quietly.

“Of course. I’ve never tried it before, but there’s a first time for everything, right?” Hell, it’s not like Mark and Pete are strangers to experimenting; the collar and leash tucked away at the bottom of the wardrobe are a testament to that.

Mark finally smiles. His eyes are wet, but Pete doesn’t mention it. He hugs Pete tightly. Pete hugs him back and kisses the crown of his head. “I love you, puppy,” he says, and at the nickname, Mark’s heart warms.

==

Pete pours Mark another Bacardi and Coke, smirking at him. Mark licks his lips and takes a shaky sip. His bladder is rapidly filling up, and the alcohol and caffeine aren’t exactly helping. He shifts and tugs at the crotch of his shorts.

“Getting full yet?” Pete asks, sitting down next to him.

“’m good,” Mark mumbles. Pete grins.

“Really?”

“Y-yeah.”

Pete says nothing else, simply smiles and goes back to watching the movie. He slips an arm around Mark’s waist and holds him firmly. Mark swallows thickly and sips his drink again.

He manages to sit it out in silence for another half hour, but eventually, it gets to be too much. He buries his face in Pete’s shoulder and gasps.

“Pete, please, it hurts,” he mumbles. Pete chuckles softly and combs his fingers through Mark’s platinum blond hair.

“What hurts?”

“My—I need to—”

“Need to piss?”

Mark screws his eyes shut and nods.

“What was that, puppy? I couldn’t quite hear you.”

Mark grits his teeth. “I need to piss,” he grits out.

“Go ahead, then.”

Pete kisses Mark’s temple. Mark takes several deep breaths and tries to relax enough to let go, but he can’t. He needs to go, but he just _can’t_ ; he’s never done this in front of someone before and there’s this maddening barrier, be it psychological or physical or both, standing firmly between him and relief. He cups his bulging bladder and whimpers. Pete sighs and hauls him into his lap, wrapping his arms around him from behind, and places his hand firmly on Mark’s stomach. 

“Pete—f-fuck, I can’t—”

Pete’s hand presses down cruelly on Mark’s swollen bladder. Mark feels the first few spurts of piss escape and bites his lower lip. There are tears of frustration welling up in his eyes. He needs to go so badly, but—there’s something, he just _can’t quite_ —

“C’mon, babe. Just let go,” Pete murmurs in his ear. Mark sobs, and the dam finally bursts. His legs shake as he pisses himself, and he moans loudly in relief, clinging to Pete’s arms. Pete’s hand is still firm on his rapidly-emptying bladder, rubbing it slightly. He presses a kiss behind Mark’s ear and says something— _that’s it, good boy, you’re doing so well, let it all out_ —that the older man only just makes out. He can barely focus on anything other than how fucking _good_ this feels, even better than usual with Pete rubbing his stomach and muttering soft words of encouragement to him, and it’s such an amazing feeling that Mark is borderline _delirious_ with pleasure and relief. He looks down at his crotch and sees a dark patch spreading across it and down the insides of his thighs—fuck, how much is there? Pete squeezes again and Mark whimpers loudly. It’s starting to drip down his legs onto the floor now, but he couldn’t care less.

Finally, his stream starts to flag. He slumps back against Pete, his bladder empty and his whole body feeling limp and boneless and relaxed. Pete strokes his hair and kisses his neck. “Did puppy have a little accident?” he teases softly. Mark smiles despite himself, then looks down.

“The sofa—”

“We can clean it,” Pete says. His voice is a little rough with arousal, and along with the relief and his sodden shorts, it’s turning Mark on something fierce. “Fuck, babe, you look so hot like this.”

“Jerk me off?” Mark asks hopefully. Pete grins.

“Naughty puppies who pee on the couch don’t get to be touched,” he smirks. He gives Mark’s wet crotch a squeeze, and Mark swallows thickly, his cock hardening even more. “Maybe if you do a good job of sucking my cock you can hump my leg.”

“Yes, sir,” Mark moans, sliding off the couch. He kneels between Pete’s legs and unzips his jeans and pulls his underwear down, eagerly taking his boyfriend’s hard cock into his mouth. Pete sighs and scratches Mark’s head.

“Good puppy,” he says softly. Mark grips the shaft and takes Pete’s cock into his throat, swallowing around it. It doesn’t take long to make him cum; Mark swallows it and licks the head clean, looking up at Pete with his best puppy eyes the whole time, and it works.

“You wanna cum, puppy?” Pete coos. Mark nods. “Alright. You can hump my leg.”

“Thank you,” Mark says, positioning himself so he can rut against Pete’s outstretched leg. Pete pets his hair and murmurs to him gently as he humps his leg like a horny dog. Mark grunts and buries his face in Pete’s thigh as his hips still and he cums, hard, in his already-wet shorts.

He slumps against Pete’s leg, fucked-out, boneless and relieved. Pete’s hand is gentle in his hair.

“You OK?” Pete asks softly, tilting Mark’s chin up so he can look him in the eye. Mark nods sleepily.

“Tired,” he mumbles. Pete smiles and strokes Mark’s face.

“C’mon. Let’s get you into the shower.”


End file.
